


won't let the shadows take their toll

by Lise



Series: Remember This Cold [35]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (or fear thereof), Drowning, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Steve Rogers, Injury, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, at least not in this fic, mostly just a lot of being very mean to Steve, that's enough tags I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve died on a street in New York City. </p><p>Except he didn't. It'd probably be less painful if he had. (Steve, during <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4070674">Collapse the Light Into Earth</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't let the shadows take their toll

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember if someone asked for this or I just decided it was something that I should write, and it probably doesn't matter! I mean, at this point beating up characters is basically my fandom trademark. Also making characters miserable and really, really sad. 
> 
> This is, if it was not obvious, the Steve point of view of what was going on during "Collapse the Light Into Earth", AKA that one where everyone thought Steve was dead and Loki and Bucky went on a revenge roadtrip together. So basically no one's happy at this point in time. 
> 
> With enormous thanks to [my delightful beta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), and to [Lena](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com), who helps me with brainstorming whenever I whine to her about hitting a dead end. This one's for you.

Steve woke up flat on his back, disoriented and in pain, and shivering in his underwear. On its own, no one of those things was so unusual. _More durable than most_ didn’t mean _invincible,_ and he ran into that fact not so infrequently, and living with Loki meant he didn’t always wake up clothed. But the grogginess lasted past his first few slow, sticky blinks. His eye itched and Steve moved unthinking to scratch it and noticed for the first time the tug on his wrists. A quick shift confirmed the same feeling on his ankles.

He fell still, a chill running down his spine. _Don’t panic,_ he thought, _don’t panic,_ and carefully tested again. What he could feel on his skin was spongy, but stretching his head around to look up, he could see what looked like some kind of metal chain. Padding, he thought, brain feeling like pudding. So they - whoever _they_ was - didn’t want him damaged.

At least not yet.

Looking a little further, dropping his chin toward his chest, he could see some kind of clear wall, a slight distortion. Nothing of interest through it, though. Apparently their _care_ didn’t extend to a room with a view.

Memory of Sin swam up in Steve’s brain and he shoved it away, trying to think of something else. He couldn’t see a camera on a casual scan, but he doubted that meant he wasn’t being watched. Whoever his captors were, they probably already knew he was awake, but he stayed still anyway, trying to remember anything about what had happened. He couldn’t remember any kind of call, any emergency, and his chest ached like he’d been kicked by a horse..

In the dead quiet, he clearly heard a door open, footsteps coming closer, and tensed, trying to get a better look around. There wasn’t much room to get leverage to free himself, but he tried anyway, willing something to give. He couldn’t tell what the chains were fastened to, but if they wouldn’t give maybe whatever it was would.

The footsteps slowed. Too little time. Steve’s stomach clenched but he steeled himself, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling like he couldn’t care less what was coming.

 _The others._ The thought swam into his head. _Bucky, Loki, everyone. Are they safe, was this just about me or-_

“Captain _America._ ” Something sounded familiar about that sneer. “Not so high and mighty now.”

Steve kept his mouth shut. He’d heard variations on that one before. Kept his eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes the best way to get someone to keep talking was not responding, and the longer this guy kept talking, the longer…

He wasn’t going to think that far ahead.

“Open the door,” the sneering voice ordered, and Steve wished he’d had more time to work on his restraints. If they were going to move him, though, they’d have to take them off. If he was lucky maybe they’d underestimated his speed. People did - saw _muscle_ and thought _slow._

A door hissed open. _Pressurized seal,_ Steve thought, just collecting details. In case. Heavy steps moved toward him, a shadow falling across the cot. “Am I boring you, Rogers?”

Steve opened his eyes and turned his head so he could see who was talking, but he was wearing some kind of mask or helmet, black with some kind of white paint that vaguely suggested a skull. Steve tried to shift his shoulders without much success. “Haven’t heard anything worth paying attention to yet,” he said, and could almost hear a voice that sounded a little like Loki’s mutter _stupid._

(Loki. Where was he? Had he been taken too? This didn’t seem like the kind of operation equipped to hold him, but then there was probably some of Doom’s tech floating around, and if anyone figured out how to use it…)

The masked man made a motion like he was going to cuff Steve and just stopped it. “You’re lucky they want you in one piece,” he said. “Soon as they’ve got what they need out of you, though…”

Steve didn’t let the way his stomach curdled show on his face. _Got what they need out of you._ “Sorry,” he said blandly. “If I’m supposed to know who you are...I’ve knocked out a lot of guys in masks.”

“Nobody likes a smart mouth, Rogers. Here, let’s see if I can jog your memory.” He pulled the mask off, revealing a face that was a mess of scar tissue but still perfectly recognizable: former SHIELD agent Brock Rumlow. He grinned, awfully. “Remember now? You dropped a building on me.”

That answered one question, probably, Steve thought, dread sour on the back of his tongue. Still, he kept his face deadpan. “Looks like you got better.”

Rumlow’s expression twisted. “Too bad you won’t,” he said, stepping back. “Sedate him.”

 _No,_ Steve thought a little wildly, but of course they weren’t going to give him a chance to get loose, wouldn’t take that risk. He could see one of the people who’d come in with Rumlow setting up a syringe and tried again, straining his arms until even the padded cuffs dug in.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumlow said, standing by the door. “In case you’re thinking about how your Avenger friends are going to be along to rescue you…they’re not coming. No one’s coming.”

Steve’s stomach dropped and he felt his jaw tighten, a growl crawling up his throat, anger mixing with the fear. _He doesn’t know about Loki,_ he thought, almost desperately. _And Loki can track me-_ Except HYDRA might know, now. Depending on if anyone had gotten away from Sin’s base alive. “What’d you do to them,” he said, before he could catch himself. The man with the syringe moved in, slid the needle into the vein at his elbow with too much ease, pushing it in slowly. “Rumlow-“

“It’s not what I did to them,” Rumlow said, grinning widely. Steve’s head was already starting to swim. “Don’t you remember?”

Snatches. Blinks. He’d been walking, reusable bag for groceries under one arm, and then-

Rumlow’s grin widened. “I shot you full of holes. Very therapeutic. I’m sure they’ve found your body by now. Poor Captain America. Gunned down in the street.”

 _Oh god,_ Steve thought, vision swimming as he began to feel sick. He’d barely been conscious, but he could remember seeing – a body dragged out of the truck, dropped on the pavement. He’d seen the face when the head flopped to the side, just before he lost consciousness entirely. His own face, slack in death.

His eyes dragged closed. Rumlow’s voice followed him down: “you’re dead, _Stevie._ ”

* * *

Steve came back around groggy and dazed, everything blurry and indistinct. His stomach turned over and he swallowed hard several times, with some difficulty, to quell the nausea. His tongue felt thick and slightly numb and he wondered how they’d calculated the sedative.

He came the rest of the way awake very quickly, sucking in a breath and starting up – but of course he couldn’t get far. The metal bands snug across his chest, stomach, and thighs saw to that, even if it weren’t for the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Even if it weren’t for the fact that whatever they’d given him had him feeling weak and shaky as a half-drowned puppy.

At first he thought he was alone. Turning his head as far as it would go, he could see some kind of observation window, opaque to him but he didn’t doubt others could watch him through it. The air felt cold and he was already starting to shiver. _Psychosomatic,_ he’d been told before, but knowing that didn’t stop it from happening.

Then, finally, he remembered what Rumlow had said, and wanted to be sick. He swallowed hard several times, closing his eyes, trying to process in pieces.

There were clones of him, of some kind, in HYDRA’s possession. HYDRA had ambushed him and used a clone to stage his death. As far as he knew, everyone thought he’d died on the street there, that Brock Rumlow had killed him.

Brock Rumlow was alive.

HYDRA had him right now.

Breaking it down into pieces like that was supposed to make it more manageable. It didn’t feel more manageable, and he felt just as screwed.

The door opened, and a man walked in wearing scrubs and a face mask. Absurdly, the first thing Steve thought was _I don’t have any clothes on_. “Well, hey,” Steve said, his voice a little raspy. “What’s a fella have to do to get a drink of water around here?”

Silence. The doctor, or scientist, or whatever, hardly even glanced at him.

“Nothing?” Steve said, skin crawling. “Usually you guys won’t _stop_ talking.”

“Do we need to gag you, Captain Rogers,” the doctor said. The fact that there wasn’t any particular feeling to it just made Steve’s chills worse. He tried to twist his hands but there was no give even for him; he wondered what kind of metal it was, and then wondered why he was bothering to wonder.

“Just asking a few questions,” Steve said, trying to sound casual. The doctor snapped on a pair of gloves and turned around. Steve stiffened but kept his expression defiant. He wasn’t going to let any of them have the satisfaction of knowing he was scared.

(He was scared. They already had his blood. Already had _clones_ and the thought of that made him sick to his stomach, what was to keep them from killing him? _Someone’s coming. Someone has to figure it out, they’re smart._ )

“Beginning trial A-01 with Weapon One,” the doctor said, apparently speaking to the air, but Steve supposed he couldn’t be surprised that there was a camera recording somewhere. _Weapon One,_ though, that made his stomach squirm.

“Can’t help but wonder what you need me for if you’ve already figured out clones,” Steve tried, because he couldn’t just lie there and maybe if he figured out how to push the right buttons…and it was a question he didn’t know the answer to. It would’ve been simpler just to kill him, or even replace him if they wanted to pull some kind of bait and switch. But taking him alive… “Something’s wrong with them, that it? Can’t quite make it work right – _ah._ ”

The doctor jabbed a needle into the muscle of his arm with what seemed like unnecessary force, depressing the plunger. Steve jerked involuntarily and bit down on his lower lip so he didn’t do more than let out a harsh exhale. He breathed in through his nose.

“Nice bedside manner,” he said. The doctor moved away and Steve tried to move his fingers again, see if he could get any kind of leverage. He still felt weak and vaguely ill. “You going to tell me what that was?”

“You are correct,” the doctor said suddenly, returning with a different needle. This one he slid more carefully into the vein at Steve’s elbow, and Steve gritted his teeth and wished he could will his blood to stay in his body, because whatever they already had they didn’t need _more._ “The clones are…defective. It’s unclear why.” Steve looked away from the dark blood spilling into each successive vial slotted into the syringe.

Steve felt a guilty surge of relief. _Defective._ There was something undeniably awful about that, about the idea of – _people,_ whatever their origin, being treated by broken computers, but the prospect of HYDRA using his DNA to build an army was worse. “Isn’t that too bad,” he said.

A door opened and for just a moment Steve caught a glimpse of a concrete hallway. If he could stand it would only be two strides away. If he could stand. “Doctor Demusz?” Someone said, and Steve carved that name into his memory, even if part of him thought _no point, who are you going to tell it to?_ “We’re ready.”

Demusz glanced toward Steve. “Good,” he said. “So am I.” Cold dread settled into Steve’s stomach, but he set his jaw and met the doctor’s eyes. Another HYDRA agent in scrubs came in, carrying a heavy looking machine that kicked Steve’s heartbeat up another notch. Demusz stepped back as his assistants stuck electrodes onto his skin. One of them glanced at the doctor, and Steve caught just the slightest twitch of his chin.

They didn’t start slow. The electric current that slammed through him made him jerk up against the metal holding him down, all his muscles seizing at once, teeth clicking together painfully. It was over fast and he panted, surprised and confused, but then they did it again.

And again.

And-

Steve felt his heart skip a beat, like the world lurching briefly out of joint and a sudden seize of new, sharp pain in his chest. He heard someone say something and it stopped, but he didn’t stop shaking immediately, leftover spasms still jerking through his body.

“If-” Steve swallowed hard. “If you’re trying to kill me there’re faster ways to go about it.”

Dr. Demusz blinked once, slowly. “Of course not,” he said. “You are still far more valuable alive.”

They were coming, Steve told himself. His friends were coming. He just had to hang on.

“Continue,” Demusz said. Steve gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. _Hang on._

* * *

He must’ve blacked out at some point. He came back around with his chest feeling bruised and every muscle in his body like it’d been pounded by a meat tenderizer. Someone had dressed him while he was out, and Steve felt sick, his face burning at the thought of some HYDRA agent touching his naked body.

They hadn’t locked him to the bed this time, though; Steve managed to make it to his feet and looked for water. There was a plastic bottle by the door, but no food with it.

The water was better than nothing. He drank the whole thing in a few swallows and eyed the lock on the door, wondering if it was breakable. He doubted it, but he’d need to try, to be sure. Just…in a minute.

Steve sat down on the floor, staring ahead blankly. _I’m stronger than this,_ he thought, but it felt hollow. They didn’t want anything that he could keep from them. Just his body, and he couldn’t exactly keep them from getting that.

He couldn’t tell what time it was, or exactly how long it had been, when he heard footsteps again. He stood and moved to the side of the door, out of the way of its opening where he could make a break for it the moment it opened wide enough. He didn’t figure his chances for very good, but he still needed to try.

Steve heard the steps stop in front of his door and tensed, but he didn’t even get far enough to go for the gap. They opened the door just enough to tase him, hard enough that it dropped him to the floor. Someone planted a boot on his spine and hauled his arms behind his back. Something closed around both his hands and forearms, locking them together.

“Hey Rogers,” said Rumlow’s voice, and Steve felt a surge of anger that he didn’t try to control. “Miss me?”

He managed to turn his head to the side, though he couldn’t glare at much more than a pair of boots. “Why don’t you uncuff me and find out how much,” he said flatly. “Scared you’ll lose?”

“I’m not stupid,” Rumlow said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve said, knowing _that_ was stupid. Rumlow hauled him up and backhanded him, probably just for the gesture since it didn’t do much. That was fine. One his feet, Steve lunged, headbutting Rumlow squarely in the face. He heard a satisfying crack and pressed, hooking his leg behind Rumlow’s calf and bringing them both down but he could still do plenty-

Someone put a taser to the back of his neck and shocked him. Rumlow got up, leaving Steve twitching on the floor, still aching muscles screaming at him. “You’re going to fucking pay for that, Rogers,” Rumlow snarled, his voice ugly and nasal. “I’m gonna make you _beg_ me to kill you.”

“Lotta talk when I can’t fight back,” Steve said. It hurt, a little, to breathe. “Sure are a big man.”

“Take him,” Rumlow snapped to one of his underlings, still holding his nose. Steve hoped it was permanently bent.

This time they didn’t knock him out. They walked him, a gun at his back and three other escorts. Steve wished he felt like he could do something to deserve them, but if he tried to run without any idea of where he was going, no weapon, arms bound…

He knew he wouldn’t get far.

They shoved him into another room, eventually, and backed out. It was tiny, hardly more than a closet, and empty, featureless other than one small observation window. Steve stared at it, wondering if he could break through, but even if he could it wouldn’t make a hole he could fit in. He flexed his arms, testing the cuffs they’d left on, but apparently they had a pretty good idea of his strength. Or at least good enough. He tried ramming the door a couple of times, but all that got him was a bruised shoulder.

Steve realized slowly that it wasn’t just him: the temperature was dropping, and he was starting to shiver. Even as he thought it, something gurgled and water started spilling from a small opening near the floor. Steve stared at it, horror dawning on him slowly, almost reluctantly, as it crept across the cement toward his bare feet. He took a step back like that would help.

 _No,_ he told himself. _It’s fine. It’s fine, just a little water, a little cold, it’s_ fine.

His throat felt like it was closing and Steve swallowed past it with an effort. His breath, when he exhaled, showed in the air.

 _Don’t show them you’re afraid._ He looked toward the observation window, still opaque so he could only imagine he was being watched, and didn’t let himself flinch when icy water crept under the soles of his feet.

 _They’re going to freeze you. Put you on ice and it’ll be decades before they pull you out, if they do at all._ Steve’s breathing quickened and he balled his hands into fists, staring at the window, locking his face into an expression of defiance.

“This the best you can do?” he said, jaw locked so his teeth wouldn’t chatter.

The sprinklers in the ceiling opened with a hiss. Steve let out a startled yelp before clamping his mouth shut, but it was _cold_ and the thin cotton shirt they’d given him was already soaked through, no shield at all from the water like ice pouring down, up to his ankles now and he could feel his toes starting to go numb.

Steve turned in a circle, panic squeezing his chest like a fist and he could feel himself breathing hard and fast. And he couldn’t use his hands, couldn’t try to block at least one way the water was getting in. The water up to his calves and rising, and Steve gasped like he was running out of air. He curled into himself like he could keep some warmth in that way.

 _Pathetic,_ a part of him thought, but he couldn’t care anymore if HYDRA was watching, couldn’t _think_ except of nightmares of cold creeping up his body and the awful pain of water in his lungs.

He checked out, falling back against one of the walls (it seemed to burn, _so cold,_ he remembered Loki lashing out in his sleep, like that). _Loki._ He was in snowy woods, wrapped in a fur cloak made out of an alien bear. He was twelve and feverish, shivering and weak and the doctor his mother had spent a week’s salary calling said _he probably won’t live through the winter._

Freezing water lapped at his chest and he couldn’t get a breath without inhaling some of the heavy spray, coughing. _I’m sorry,_ he thought, and couldn’t decide who he was apologizing to.

The water shut off, very suddenly. Steve’s hacking coughs sounded very loud in the sudden quiet. He could feel himself shivering – was that a good sign or a bad one? His thoughts felt muddled, like someone had stuck an egg beater in them.

Nobody opened the door, and the water didn’t drain. Just sucked at him like a vampire, pulling every scrap of warmth his body could generate away. His chest and stomach burned.

 _What the hell do you want?_ He wanted to shout, but his voice would shake too damn much to make it worthwhile.

Steve had no idea how long they left him there, except that he’d started drifting in and out, his fingers completely numb, body shunting blood away from all nonessential functions. He gasped when the water started to drain, jerked out of half-consciousness, and when it was gone and it was just him, shivering, teeth chattering, they came back to get him.

The one blessing was that Rumlow wasn’t with them.

They dragged him back to his cell and uncuffed him. Steve curled up in a huddle on the cot, still shivering; he couldn’t seem to get warm. He huddled into himself, face to the wall so he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing his face.

He could feel tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and however exhausted he was there was just enough left to feel shame.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to will his mind away, jaw clenched so he didn’t make a sound, didn’t give them _that_ satisfaction (at least, what a _stupid,_ small thing to hold onto). All he could think of, though, was that image of himself, dead on the ground. Had they found the body yet? They’d be able to tell, right, that something was off, that it wasn’t really him, they’d know-

(And what if they didn’t?)

 _Oh, god._ Someone was going to have to tell Bucky. And Loki, always teetering along that edge, Loki who said _I would have followed you_. Thor was there, Steve told himself, Thor would look after him, but all it would take was a moment--

_They have to know it’s not real._

Didn’t they? Loki would know. His magic would be able to tell, somehow, maybe, and he would check, wouldn’t want to believe-

(And Bucky, locked up, what would he do, how would he _feel._ Abandoned again.)

Steve’s chest ached and he squeezed his eyes shut harder like he could force the thoughts out, trying to find some memory, something that didn’t hurt, but there was nowhere to go. He was dead, after all.

* * *

The scientists didn’t say much within Steve’s hearing. He could hear them murmuring, but could only make out one word in ten, when he was even capable of focusing on that much. It was almost better when Rumlow was there, prowling around like a hyena. He might be - an evil _sack of shit,_ the words savage even in Steve’s head - but at least he _talked_ to Steve. Treated him like a person rather than a specimen.

“When we’re finished with you I get to put you down, Rogers,” he said, bending over him while the scientists conferred over some equipment. “Maybe if you ask really nice I’ll keep it fast. One shot to the head.”

Steve worked some moisture into his mouth. “Go to hell.”

Rumlow didn’t even blink. “Your poor pals. They’re so _sad._ Saw ‘em grieving on TV...didn’t see your _boyfriend,_ though. Guess that makes sense. Can’t exactly put a _thing_ like that on national television.”

Anger coiled in Steve’s stomach even as it turned, a part of him thinking wildly, absurdly, _how do they know._ That was _private_ and the idea of Rumlow knowing something that intimate made Steve want to puke. He kept his mouth closed.

 “Made me sick when I found out,” Rumlow went on. “About you and him. Knew you were a hypocrite. Didn’t know you were a _queer_ one.” Steve tried not to flinch, his heart pounding. “And not even human. Was he _sweet_ to you, Rogers? Did he fuck you real nice and slow-“

The image flashed into Steve’s head of Loki stretched out over him, arms trembling, so careful, so _gentle._ He jerked up, a growl bursting out of him. “Shut your damn mouth,” he said. Rumlow just grinned.

“Wonder if your teammates locked him up now that you’re gone,” Rumlow said, closing in, and Steve clenched his teeth. “Or just put him down like an animal.”

 _I would have followed you._ Steve felt a chill down his spine.

“And what about that pal of yours, your Bucky,” Rumlow said, grin widening. “There’s another nutcase. You like that? Your crazy freaks?” He snorted. “I was there, you know. When they were scrubbing out his brain. He recognized you. _I knew him._ ” Rumlow shook his head. “ _Real_ sad. Then they put his brain through a blender and there goes good old Bucky Barnes. Had to put a bit between his teeth so he didn’t bite his tongue in half-“

Steve’s stomach churned even as white hot rage boiled up and he lunged against his restraints as hard as he could and felt a brief, brief surge of satisfaction when Rumlow took a step back.

He recovered a second later, though.

“Maybe once you’re finished we’ll send one of those nice clones you’re helping us make, bring ‘em both in. Always use for a Winter Soldier. And there’s some people who’d just _love_ to cut up your alien boyfriend and find out what makes him tick.” Steve could picture that, far too vividly. Bucky having his will ripped away yet again. Loki lying lifeless on a table. ( _Like you, right now._ )

He tasted despair at the back of his throat, overwhelming his defiance. Rumlow smirked and stepped back. “Looks like the docs are ready for you,” he said, and Steve’s muscles seized up. “Talk later, Rogers.”

Steve hated him, more even than he thought he’d hated Red Skull, more personally. _Ten seconds of freedom,_ he thought, _ten seconds and I wouldn’t just break his nose,_ and the violence of his own thoughts might’ve bothered him but it was also one of the only things he had to hold on to, closer than memories.

Memories. _He recognized you._ Steve’s stomach twisted. Bucky’d be okay. He had people watching him, he was in a safe place. Loki had Thor…

Loki who had already tried to kill himself once and could travel in the blink of an eye, who could slip out of a locked room, who could-

 _No._ He had to be safe. Steve had to believe he was safe, that even if he died here for real that at least…

( _If_ he died here. Steve wasn’t sure it was an _if_ anymore.)

* * *

Steve stared up at the ceiling of his cell, counting the seconds. Door opening, closing. _One, two, three four, five, six._

“Rise and shine, Rogers,” Rumlow said. Steve didn’t react, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He knew how the door worked – keycard, then code. He strained his ears, trying to get a sense for how many others were in the hallway. Three – maybe four?

“Williams, go,” Rumlow said. “Brewster, cover him.” Steve waited, listened for the beep of the keycard, the keying of the sequence. They had to open the door. He had three seconds between the door opening for the first agent and the second moving into place.

_One, two-_

Steve moved. He ducked down, grabbing one of Williams’ ankles and yanking. Even before he went down Steve was moving over him, grabbing Brewster’s arm and twisting it, thinking in flashes- _grab the gun, third agent’s head cracks against the wall, three down and shoot Rumlow, six seconds to reach the door_ (and then? and then nothing, he hadn’t made it that far).

Steve made it to the door before the shot hit him in the left leg and it buckled under him. He tried to recover, but the alarm was already going off and his leg wouldn’t hold.

“You son of a motherfucking bitch,” Rumlow said. Steve half turned to see him advancing, one hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder, and the rage on his face made Steve think _this is it._ He drew himself up as much as he could, tightening his jaw.

“This what you joined SHIELD for, Brock?” he said. Pain was throbbing through his leg and he could feel blood soaking his sweatpants. Still, he tried to go for Rumlow once he was in range. Rumlow’s boot hit him in the stomach and he gasped out his air, lurching forward; stars exploded behind his eyes as the next kick slammed into his skull. He blinked those away but Rumlow shoved him down, his knee in Steve’s stomach, fingers grabbing his leg and-

Steve howled, lashing out blindly as Rumlow’s fingers dug into the fresh bullet hole. _Not good enough,_ he thought wildly. _Should’ve tried harder, should’ve shot him right between the eyes, would’ve been worth the slight delay-_

“Agent! Stand down!” He didn’t recognize the voice, but Rumlow lurched back, eyes burning with an ugly expression. Steve met it even if his head was spinning. He was bleeding fast and hard and steel-toed boots weren’t good for his skull, however hard it might be. Trying to push himself up, someone – maybe Brewster, pointed a gun at his face.

Steve didn’t recognize the man staring down at him, but Rumlow seemed to. “Should’ve cut something to keep him from running, Sir,” he said. “How much longer do we need him for?”

“As long as I say so,” he said. “Agent Rumlow, come with me. The rest of you, get this cleaned up.”

“What,” Steve managed to pant. “No introductions?”

The look the stranger gave him was barely more than a glance. _You don’t matter,_ it said. He turned and walked away.

They half dragged, half carried him back to his cell. A doctor, or maybe just a scientist, came and dug the bullet out of Steve’s leg, bandaged it and left him there with the whole thing pulsing with hot, angry pain and a headache pulsing in his temples.

The next time a troop of soldiers came to fetch him, it didn’t include Rumlow.

* * *

He thought maybe it had been two weeks. Maybe more, maybe less. He was glad he was used to hunger. The thirst was harder. And Rumlow, lurking around like a jackal, mocking, gloating.

The certainty of escape diminished into almost nothing. If anyone was coming, they would have found him by now.

There’d been something in his water this morning (morning? might as easily be afternoon, or evening, he hadn’t seen a trace of natural light in a long time or what _felt_ like a long time) that knocked him flat; he woke up groggy and sick and strapped down with an IV stuck in one arm and technicians milling around. The room seemed to sway uneasily from side to side, and someone shone a light into his eyes. He turned his head away. “Subject Zero conscious,” they said. “Prepare first trial sample.”

 _Sample of what,_ Steve thought with a combination of weariness and dread. He tried to twist his wrist but his limbs felt like they were made of lead. Small relief: Rumlow wasn’t there.

“What do you want,” Steve rasped, half question and half demand. No one answered him. Someone masked came over with a syringe full of something cloudy and greenish and injected it into the IV port. Steve tried not to watch the drip, tried to keep his heartbeat from picking up. He didn’t think he was very successful at either.

There were two people standing over him, watching, and one of them met his eyes very briefly before looking away, mumbling something Steve couldn’t make out to the other and turning away. Steve wished he could’ve heard it, could’ve felt like he was getting _something,_ some idea of where he was or how long it’d been or-

Something to make him feel less like everything else was gone and it was just him and this HYDRA hellhole left.

 “Guh-” Steve could feel the drug, whatever it was, starting to take effect. His heart was started racing and he swallowed hard against the saliva that flooded his mouth, skin prickling like a thousand tiny needles poking into him, roaring starting in his ears. He clenched his right hand and gritted his teeth, thinking _ride it out, just, just-_

The lab started to blur. By the door - Steve started, his eyes widening. “Bucky,” he breathed. “Buck-”

He was just standing there, though, hands loose at his sides and head down. Steve wavered, confused, but Bucky didn’t move and then Sin came up behind him and put her hand on the back of his neck, grinning.

“Oh no,” she said, her voice echoing strangely. “He’s ours now.” She reached up, digging her nails into her forehead, and started peeling her face away. “Just like you.”

Steve made a furious sound, but no, wait, _wait,_ Sin was dead, Loki’d killed her. He shook his head and Bucky and Sin both melted away like smoke. His mouth was dry now and his stomach burned; Steve tried to slow his panting breaths.

He heard something _drip_ to his right and turned his head sharply, vision flickering oddly, and nearly gagged. Loki, pinned up like a butterfly and carved open navel to throat, the sound he’d heard blood dripping off his slack fingers, eyes open and staring blankly through Steve. He choked, stomach heaving into his throat ( _oh god oh god no_ ) but that wasn’t real either, this was just - he wasn’t going to break. Wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

( _Don’t need you to break, Rogers. This is just product testing._ )

“Ah- _aaaah_ -” His heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to get out of his body. A spike of agony went through his chest and Steve clamped his lips shut and sucked in air through his nose, thinking _you dealt with worse than this every damn day when you were sick, this is fine-_

A whisper at the back of his mind, _if no one’s coming for you maybe it’s better to die, keep HYDRA from getting anything more out of you,_ but he wasn’t going to believe that, couldn’t just _give up._ Or wouldn’t. Same thing.

The Avengers didn’t give up. Loki wouldn’t. Bucky wouldn’t.

“Stevie,” said a familiar voice in his ear, and Steve jerked again, looked before he could stop himself. It was Bucky like he’d been in the 40s, before everything, except even as Steve looked at him he started to change, turning blue, icing over. “Stevie,” he said, echoing. “It’s time to get up.”

“Buck,” Steve said, and it came out like a moan, rasping over his throat, but then a metal hand punched through Bucky’s chest and he shattered, and Bucky’s metal fingers clamped around his throat and Steve’s lungs were going to explode-

His thoughts blinked out.

Steve had a split second, when they came back, to think _I’m lying in bed, Loki’s nuzzling the back of my neck. It’s good, everything’s good._

“Too intense,” he heard someone say, and feeling rushed back into his body. He groaned before he could hold it back, feeling like every muscle in his body had been stretched like taffy and then pounded by hammers. His head felt like his brain was mashed potatoes. “Slower escalation would be ideal.” Steve kept his eyes closed, not just hoping they wouldn’t notice but afraid of what he might see.

Steve wished he thought he’d get water if he asked. His mouth and throat felt like he’d swallowed sand. He breathed in ragged gasps like he’d run a marathon. His head lolled weakly to the side.

“Decrease to 50 cc’s and try again,” someone said. Steve heard himself moan but no one paid attention.

This time it was slower. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that would be better, at least that way he couldn’t see. He could hear, though, hear what sounded like Natasha screaming suddenly choked off. Clint yelling and a horrible wet sound, Sam yelling: “Cap! _Steve!”_

It wasn’t them. It wasn’t real.

Loki’s voice, next to his ear, hissed, “pay attention!” Steve’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head and Loki was there, _right_ there, a smear of blood on his cheek but clearly it wasn’t his, and he bent over Steve, worried but alive, and Steve almost cried with relief. But the others-

“They’re dying,” he croaked. Loki shook his head.

“It wasn’t real. None of this is real,” Loki said. “You have to get up.”

Steve’s arms wouldn’t respond to his commands. His veins felt like they were on fire. “I can’t,” he said. Loki’s lips pressed together with clear disapproval. “Loki-“

“I’m helping you as much as I can,” Loki said. His fingers hovered close to Steve’s cheek, not quite touching. Steve turned his head toward that touch but it pulled away. He heard the crack of gunfire and jerked.

“It’s a dream, Steve,” Loki said. “You have to wake up.”

Steve blinked. There was light shining in his eyes and he turned his head away; his breathing sounded loud and ragged and he was burning up, feverish-

“Steve,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry.” He was standing in the doorway, swaying, a ragged bleeding wound where his left arm should be, swaying.

 _Buck,_ he wanted to say, but his tongue felt thick, and then Bucky’s mouth opened with an awful gagging noise, a tentacle thrusting out followed by another and another and Bucky was thrashing, dying, and Steve could hear himself screaming-

_(screaming, he needed to stop screaming, oh God)_

There was more after that, but something in him broke and he shut down, stopped thinking, just stopped.

* * *

When he woke up, groggy and hurting, he was back in his cell. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had changed: the new, throbbing line of neat stitches on his left side. Steve closed his eyes, wondering dully what they’d taken out. Or put in.

He wondered how long it had been. Maybe they really did think he was dead. Maybe no one was coming at all.

Maybe he was going to die here.

 _Please,_ he thought hollowly, but nothing else came. He didn’t even know what to ask.

He tried to imagine that he was back in the apartment, that it was game night, Bucky and Loki bickering playfully, but the image that came to mind was Bucky’s face splitting apart to reveal HYDRA’s tentacles reaching out for Steve, or the feeling of the dead weight of Loki’s body in his arms. HYDRA’s visions crawling into his mind, overtaking his memories, except now parts of him weren’t sure what had happened and what hadn’t. He thought he remembered Rumlow gloating about how they’d captured Bucky again. Or maybe about how they were going to? It was all blurry, confused. 

He wished he could roll over, curl up with his face to the wall, _hide._

_Face it, Steve, you’ve been beat._

His eyes burned and Steve took a deep breath, thinking _dammit don’t let them see you cry_. Even if it didn’t matter, it still felt like he needed to hold onto something. Some kind of line so he could feel less like he’d failed completely and given HYDRA everything they wanted.

Even if he already had.


End file.
